Hold On
by Kerrison
Summary: Post Agent Afloat: Tony and Ziva try to regroup and recover after both the events of Judgment Day and their return to DC.
1. Chapter 1

He opened the door with a beer bottle in his hand, leaning his forearm against the doorframe.

"Zee-vah," he purred, looking slightly abashed at being caught red-handed. Hadn't she lectured him about drinking less than fourty-eight hours earlier? And here he was, home, with friends to talk to, but still finding it easier to spend his time with his good friend Guiness.

She cocked an eyebrow at the bottle, but bit her tongue on the commentary. "Can I come in?"

Tony stepped aside, letting her pass and shutting the door behind her. He slid back into his spot on the sofa, and returning his gaze to the Best of Ozzie and Harriet.

Ziva kicked off her shoes and settled on the sofa, her feet resting against Tony's thigh as she lounged across the empty-space.

She said nothing.

He switched his beer hand and tugged her feet into his lap, his slightly calloused hands starting a gentle caress of her sore feet. She studied his face and knew it was an unconscious act with no lecherous intent.

He brought the bottle to his lips and let the cool liquid soothe his throat before he started speaking.

"We had a case ... there was a chaplain who was certain that life in the fifties was so ideal -" Tony stumbled slightly, gathering his thoughts. "He chained his brides to a bunker-wall. Kept them prisoner in a world that was idealized and so far from reality..."

"I read the report," Ziva supplied, her voice soft.

Tony jutted his chin towards the television "He had the same DVDs from the fifties that I do."

"That doesn't make you a lunatic, Tony."

"What about spending four months dreaming of a world that doesn't exist?"

A small smirk tugged at her lips. "As long as you didn't kidnap anyone and cuff them in a bunker, I think you're okay, Tony."

He nodded and took a another pull from the bottle, his eyes closed.

He felt a hand cover his own and the beer was gently taken from his grasp. He met her eye and watched as Ziva finished off the beer in a single swig.

How she could make beer-drinking sexy, he still wasn't sure. But that definitely wasn't an appropriate thought for the momment._ Bad DiNozzo. Not appropriate. _

She set the empty bottle on the coffee table before running the back of her hand along his cheek.

"I would be worried about you if you were not upset, Tony," she said, moving to cup his hand in her palm as she spoke, ensuring he was focused on her. "Wanting to go back and change things, and have the Director with is now-- it does not make you insane. It makes you caring." She smirked as she continued, "Wanting to live in a world where everything's black and white and dinner is on the table when the father walks in the door after work – that is somewhat insane, Tony."

He allowed a small smile at her light dig. "You'll never come running when I say 'Honey I'm home? What's for dinner?' You mean that's never going to happen?" he teased.

"I would not bet on it, Tony," Ziva replied with a grin, tapping his cheek in a teasing, light slap.

He gently pulled her into a hug and buried his nose in her hair. He felt her tilt her face towards his neck and hugged her even tighter when he felt her nuzzle his neck.

"No more drinking alone, Tony. And no more drinking to forget- she would not have wanted that," Ziva said softly, her fingers tracing a soothing pattern on his back.

She felt him nod into her hair.

"You can come to us, you know." This time, only silence. Ziva pulled away. "Would you not want me to talk to you?" she asked, forcing his gaze.

He offered a half-hearted one-shoulder shrug. "I would understand."

"Ha!" She scoffed. "You most certainly would not! You would harass me until I finally was so annoyed I told you my feelings just to make you leave me alone!"

_She's got a point, _he thought. "Its different, Ziva."

"Why? Because I did not know The Director as long? Because I am a woman and therefore must discuss my feelings with everyone?"

Tony had no reply and returned his gaze back towards the TV. Ziva sighed, giving up on that particular line of questioning.

She shifted until her shoulders touched his and she leaned into his frame, watching the show side-by-side.

The enjoyed a few moments of silence before Tony spoke. "Ozzie never went to Harriet and said 'Honey today at work, I screwed up so royally, my boss died.' That just didn't happen in their lives."

Ziva shifted, tucking her feet underneath her, leaning more into Tony's frame. "Obviously I'm not the expert you are, Tony, but I don't think that ever happened to them, either."

"I don't think there was an episode where Ozzie had to leave his family and go float on a boat with five thousand nut jobs, either."

She smirked. "No. I don't think so."

"And when he gets back, everyone is so disappointed in him-" he couldn't finish, his words cut off.

"No one is disappointed in you, Tony!" Her tone was firm.

"Gibbs is," he replied, not missing a beat.

"Gibbs is not disappointed in you. Gibbs is proud of you. He's just... Gibbs! He doesn't say things like that! **I **don't say things like that, but **I **am proud of you," she said, somewhere between emphatic and exasperated.

"You're proud of me?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"For what?"

"Many things, Tony," she replied softly. "But I have never been disappointed in you or blamed you for the Director's death. Nor has Gibbs. Or Tim."

She felt him sigh and took the opportunity to softly cover his hand with her own. "I can't help you forgive yourself," she said. "Only you can do that."

"Yeah," he acquiesced. Tony tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

"But what I can do, is make sure you don't kill yourself before you get around to forgiving yourself," she said with a small chuckle in her voice.

She laced her fingers with his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You should get some rest. This has been a very busy week for you, yes?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "I really don't want to sleep, Ziva."

Ziva shifted, taking a good look at her partner. "You haven't been sleeping well." It was a statement, not a question.

"Nope."

"Bad Dreams?" she asked, knowing the answer before the tell-tale flinch crossed his features.

_Suddenly it all made sense. He wouldn't drink to hide the memories- he'd drink to pass out. When you passed out, you didn't dream as much. Less chance of re-living Jenny's death over and over again if it was an alcohol-induced slumber. _

She stood, pulling him behind her towards his bedroom. "Come on then." He followed behind her like a small puppy- not at all the lecherous womanizing attitude she had expected.

"Ziva, as much as I'd like to live up to my reputation and completely rock your world tonight, I don't think I have the energy."

_And there it is, _she thought, mentally laughing. A horny Tony was a healthy Tony. "Now, Tony," she crooned in reply, "Those are words I never thought I'd hear you say. 'I'm too tired.'" she mocked.

"One day, Ziva,..." He smiled, knowing he was being toyed with.

He followed her into his room and pulled his shirt off and kicked off his pants as she pulled-down the covers on his bed.

"Promises, Promises." Ziva flirted in return. "Into bed with you, DiNozzo," she ordered as he shuffled over, clad in socks and his boxers.

"Join me, Zee-vah?" he batted his lashes.

She leaned in close to him and smiled. "One day, Tony, I **am** going to take you up on that offer and you won't know what to do with yourself."

He grinned as he felt her press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

He lay back and pulled the covers up.

"I'm going to go clean up that pig-sty," she gestured to the front room – still looking somewhat chaotic since Tony had yet to unpack from the ship. "I'll stay until you're asleep. But I'm not far if you need me, yes?"

He nodded and watched as she doused the light and left the bedroom door open a small crack – the same way his mother had done when he was a child.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony's body jerked upright, and his chest heaved, screaming for air.

It had not been one of his most vivid dreams, but it was terrifying none the less.

Jenny. Her body soaked in red. Holes oozing red. Her eyes, glassy, filled with blame. Filled with regret.

He scrubbed his face with a hand and groaned. _Water. _He slid out of bed, and padded to the kitchen, hoping a glass of water would rinse the cotton taste out of his mouth.

Tony carried out the motions of getting a drink without truly taking in his surroundings. It was only as he set the glass down that he noticed how tidy his kitchen was. _Wow. I didn't know Mossad trained on in depth house cleaning. _He turned, eyes roaming the entire apartment before settling on the figure curled under an afghan on his couch.

He couldn't help the corner of his mouth that curled into a small smile as he walked over, quietly, and squatted in front of her. _This could be deadly,_ he mused, cautiously putting a hand on her hip and very gently shaking her.

"Ziva," he whispered.

"I'm not asleep," she managed to reply. "Did you put your glass in the dishwasher, or leave it on the counter like a caveperson?"

He smiled, watching her sleep-filled eyes flutter open. "Caveperson."

"I should not be surprised," she softened her gaze and rolled onto her back, stretching as she did so. "Did you not get any sleep? I checked on you and you were out like a lamp."

"Light," he corrected. "Out like a light. And I did sleep, but ... I woke up."

Ziva smirked. "For someone who lies to women all the time, Tony, you're remarkably bad at avoiding the truth. I believe 'Woke up' is an understatement. Another nightmare?"

He nodded. "That couch isn't comfortable."

She propped herself up on her elbows and shrugged. "I fell asleep reading," she said sheepishly. "Perhaps this week has me a little more tired than I had thought."

He looked at the coffee table, his copy of The Kite Runner laying on the table, bookmarked about a third of the way through.

He managed a smirk in her direction and she rolled her eyes. "I've read almost everything else on your shelves, Tony," she replied.

"You've read that one, too, admit it."

She had the good grace to look somewhat abashed. "A few months ago. But... I wanted a refresher."

He nodded, letting it slide. "Do you want me to drive you home?"

Ziva shook her head and blinked, clearing the proverbial cobwebs. "I didn't realize-" _I was bothering you._ She stopped herself mid sentence, knowing the catty remark wasn't helpful. Nor was he out of line to ask her to vacate his sofa at three in the morning. "No, Tony," she said softly. "Thank you. I'll be fine."

"You um..." he stopped, looking down. "You don't have to go. But ... I know you didn't plan on staying and that couch is not comfortable. And sleeping in jeans can't be a cake walk, either."

He watched her as she smirked. _Is she blushing? Ziva doesn't blush. But that sure looks like the tiniest little bit of a blush! _

"No jeans. I did your laundry... and stole a pair of boxershorts," she admitted, her normal saucy expression firmly in place.

_Oh. God. She's wearing my boxers. _ He lifted a corner of the afghan and peeked underneath.

"Mighty Mouse, Tony?" She teased, grinning.

He shrugged. "A gift from Abby."

"Since when does Abby purchase your underwear?"

"Jealous, David?"

Without replying, she pulled back the afghan and stood, folding the blanket before draping it across the back of the sofa.

Her make-shift pajamas, consisting of her tee-shirt and his boxers, made his vision swim. _Shit. Shit shit shit shit. _He thought. _I am sooo not supposed to find the fact that she's in my shorts sexy. That is definitely not allowed. Co-worker. Colleague. Not sexy. Not sexy. _

Tony stood and mentally fought his hormones while she strode to the kitchen, putting his glass in the dishwasher.

She reached across the top-rack, her shirt riding up.

"What the hell?" He said, his voice torn between a primal groan and a shout.

She turned and her eyes grew wide as he rushed at her. It was only after years of working by his side, trusting him implicitly, that she was able to squelch the instinct to put her elbow into his jugular when he roughly grabbed her shirt and pulled it up, exposing her upper hip.

"Who did this?" he asked, his fingers gently exploring the skin surrounding her stitches.

"A bomb in Morocco," she said, by way of dismissal, turning out of his grasp and returning to tidying up after him in the kitchen.

He watched her for a moment as she twitched the shirt back into place. "How many more?"

"Bombs? I don't know, Tony."

"How many more cuts, Ziva? How many more times did someone have to sew you back together?" His voice was steely.

She paused and mentally counted. "Four lacerations requiring sutures. Two that weren't that deep but will still scar and one that a bandaid took care of," she pointed to her forehead and the fading mark. "And a dislocated toe."

"You weren't going to mention it?"

"It didn't seem important."

"Someone tried to blow you up, and its not important?"

"They didn't try to blow _me_ up," she replied evenly. "They tried to blow up a nightclub. I just happened to be singing there! Wrong place, wrong time, wrong assignment. Its part of the job, Tony. Its not important."

"It is important to me," he was firm. "You're important to me."

He turned walking out of the kitchen and back towards his bedroom, stopping only long enough to turn and catch her eye.

"You could have called."


	3. Chapter 3

The package was already on his desk when arrived early that morning.

In distinct penmanship, a simple note was scrawled on a blue post-it-note: _Not as cute, but much sexier. _

When he picked up the package to shove it into his bottom drawer, folded underneath were his Mighty Mouse boxers, freshly laundered and with another post-it. _Not as sexy, but very comfortable. Thank you. _

Gibbs and Ziva had spent the day in Norfolk finishing up the paperwork on a petty officer who had stabbed her Commanding Officer to death for reasons still somewhat murky, despite a thorough investigation.

Tony had spent the day with McGee and Abby, doing what Gibbs referred to as 'spring cleaning' – despite it being fall – and wrapping up all loose ends and doing routine maintenance on their investigation kits and gear. In short, being bored out of his mind.

When seven o'clock hit and Gibbs and Ziva still hadn't checked in, he headed home.

_Its was an odd feeling when your daily routine suddenly left you feeling empty and alone, _he mused to himself, as he shuffled around his apartment, the rooms feeling more vacant and quiet than ever before.

Any other day, he'd nuke some left over Chinese or order a pizza or – if he had to – cook. Sit in front of the tv and let his favorite movies entertain him for the night.

If he was particularly 'lonely' he'd call one of the girls he kept in his little black book and invite them out for a romantic dinner and ... well, hopefully some time back at his place entertaining each other.

But that was happening less and less. He hadn't touched that book for months. Even before Jeanne – the thought of her name causing a small flinch – his random encounters had left him feeling more lonely than before.

The sex was _not_ horrible. He was Anthony DiNozzo, after all, and he had standards of performance that he had to maintain. But even with good sex, he wanted more.

More. More than sex?

At first, he thought it was the flu. Then he thought he was just getting old. Maybe he needed a new car.

Dinner was the hardest part to get through. His normal wine-and-dine was always affective on his dates, but had recently taken on the appeal of a trip to the dentist for him.

Conversations about a particular designer's new shoe collection, Heather Locklear's law suit, and a poodle named Sniffles just didn't keep Tony's attention during dinner.

And there really were other options out there for dates than a four star meal and expensive Chablis. It was a sure-fire way to get the chick into bed, definitely. But it was growing old.

And, frankly, when the waiters at Monsieur Chevalier's started knowing Tony by name, but never recognizing his dates, the 'pride' he once felt was starting to turn more towards embarrassment.

God knows he would never admit that to anyone. He had a hard enough time admitting it to himself.

Tony flipped through the channels, his thumb starting to cramp after the third cycle through the satellite. Even the classic movie channel had little appeal, no one to comment with him on Bogart and Bacall's obvious sexual tension during _The Big Sleep. _

He groaned in frustration just has his phone rang. Without even glancing at the caller I.D, he answered.

"DiNozzo."

Ziva's voice sounded exhausted. "You're right. I should have called."

It took him a moment as he mentally shifted gears. He muted the TV and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and kept the phone to his ear. "Have a good day with Gibbs?"

"Not really," was her reply after a heavy pause. "The day didn't exactly go as planned. But then, roadtrips with Gibbs seldom do."

"You missed a stimulating day at the office," he said, his voice laden with sarcasm. "We pushed paper all day. I even helped Abby clean her mass-spec. You don't realize how gross that thing can get until she makes you clean it with a q-tip-"

"Tony!" Ziva's voice cut in. "I didn't call last time and I should have. I'm calling this time."

"What?" He frowned at the phone.

She sighed. _Pride goeth before the fall,_ she reminded herself. "Can you come over? I could use a hand."

Tony frowned. _Ziva asking for help?_ "I'll be right there."


	4. Chapter 4

"Its unlocked," she called through the door, before his hand could even hit the door to knock.

She was sprawled on her couch, head on a bed pillow, her hand clasped at her side and her eyes closed.

She was pale. Too pale, Tony realized, in a cursory assessment of his partner. And the hand on her side clutched at her hip. He let the door close behind him and he dumped his backpack as he strode towards her, kneeling on the floor next to the sofa.

"What happened?"

She took a breath. "I slipped."

"You what? Ziva David doesn't slip," he said, trying some charm to lighten the mood.

"Apparently today, she does," she shifted and winced. "There was an incident in Norfolk today. Petty Officer Michaelson decided that her elbow belonged in my stomach and I hit the corner of the interrogation table."

How could a few words make his temper flare so quickly? He had nothing to say. Nothing helpful, anyway. Instead, he moved her hand from her side. Before lifting the corner of her shirt, he caught her gaze and waited for the almost imperceptible shift in her eyes, granting him permission.

A gauze-pad was tinged pink from blood.

"You ripped your stitches."

"Only a few of them," she said dismissively.

"Didn't you tell Gibbs?"

Ziva shrugged. "It didn't hurt that badly at the time."

"Adrenaline, Zee-vah," he corrected. "Makes you think you're ok when you're not? Don't they teach you that stuff in Mossad?"

She managed a chuckle. "If you can just help me get settled for the night, I'll be fine in the morning."

_Like hell I'm leaving you with a bleeding hole in your side, _he thought. _I don't know what would be worse- Gibbs finding out, or my own guilt! _

Her fridge was very orderly and he found the bottles of water quickly. Grabbing two bottles and quickly putting a tea-kettle on to boil, he allowed his eyes to take in her orderly kitchen. Nothing homey. Nothing indicating her roots here were more than temporary.

He set the water on her coffee table before heading to her bathroom. He found the gauze pads and some topical antibiotic cream easily.

_Desperate times call for desperate measures,_ he thought, daring to open the medicine cabinet. Invading a woman's bathroom was incredibly personal. The last two territories of female personal space lay with a purse and a medicine cabinet.

As he expected, the cabinet was tidy. Top shelf- nail polish in two different shades. _Nail Polish? Since when does Ziva paint her nails? _His mind flitted back to Los Angeles and their day at the pool. _Ah. Pedicure. _

Middle shelf – daily makeup regimen consisting of mascara, lip gloss, and eyeliner. Proof if he ever needed it that she was naturally gorgeous. Some women pay millions for skin that flawless.

Bottom shelf - Two recent-looking prescriptions bottles. One a painkiller, the other an anti-biotic.

He grabbed both prescriptions, the gauze and cream and headed back to the living room, setting up supplies on the coffee table. She had already broken the seal on one of the waters, he noticed, glad she wasn't letting herself get dehydrated.

He handed her the prescriptions and the opened water. "You're going back on your antibiotics until Ducky says otherwise," he ordered as he pushed her t-shirt up and ever so gently removed her old gauze.

"You went in my medicine cabinet?" she asked.

"Yell at me later. Right now, take your pills and hold still. Last thing I need is for you to kill me with a water bottle because I pinched you with medical tape."

She flinched as he pulled skin, but remained still and quiet, knowing it was an accident. He worked quickly and, when he finished, didn't pull her shirt down, instead moving to her room and bringing back a fresh tank-top.

"You need to change. That shirt is rubbing your bandage." He held out his hands, palms up.

Her hands slid into his own and she gripped, letting herself be pulled to her feet, so as to not strain the skin on her sides. "Thank you, Tony," she said simply, squeezing his hands in her own and letting a small smile cross her normally stoic features.

"Its what I do, Zee-vah. I rescue the pretty damsel's in distress," he winked, stepping away from her and to his bag.

She moved and grabbed the tank-top he had left on the arm of the sofa, stopped from heading towards the bathroom to change when he called her name softly.

She spun and caught the fabric that was lobbed gently through the air at her.

The light blue fabric with the red and yellow-clad mouse made her grin. His boxers.

He cleared his throat and took his time zipping up his bag, refusing to meet her gaze. "You're wrong. They're sexy. Just not sexy on me."

She managed to keep the blush at bay through sheer will power alone. The smirk on her face, however, she couldn't hide.

Without another word, she turned and went to change.

The mugs of tea steamed as he set them on the coffee table, the smell of mint wafting in the air.

"I thought you hated tea."

"Hate is a strong word," he replied. "I prefer coffee. I enjoy hot chocolate. I have been known to enjoy tea. Its just not top of the list."

She smiled. "The body is a temple, Tony."

"What religion allows you to pour six shots of tequila into your temple, Ziva?" he countered, referring to one of their ventures to Abby's favorite bar.

Hearing her chuckle made him smile. His face felt awkward, having not truly smiled like that all day.

Tony settled into the far corner of the couch, moving his mug of tea to the end-table. He rested his right arm along the back of the couch.

He blinked, his eyes adjusting as the overhead lights flipped off, leaving the room in a gentle glow from the lamp on the end-table. He watched her walk towards the sofa; years of partnership allowed his eyes to recognize the faint signs of soreness in her gait.

She settled into the couch next to him, her head resting heavily on his arm and her eyes closing almost immediately.

He watched her for a moment before leaning forward a few inches and tugging the pillow from behind his back. He lay it on his lap.

The hand that was behind her on the sofa, came to her shoulder and applied gentle pressure. "Lie down," he said simply.

Ziva sighed. "If I lie down, Tony, I'll fall asleep. And if I do that, you will be stuck as my pillow. You should go now."

"I know." His answer was simple and clear. "Lie down, Ziva."

She didn't meet his gaze. Asking for help with a medical issue was far different than asking for someone to coddle her. The bandage was in place. She'd taken her meds. The medical needs had been met.

This was coddling.

But it felt really nice. Allowing someone to help her felt really nice.

_Almost something I could get used to. _


	5. Chapter 5

She had surprised him the next morning.

An email on his computer reading simply: _"Don't make plans for tonight. Dress comfortably and meet me at the Tenleytown Metro Station at 6. Z"_

Something had changed.

Weeks ago, he would have harassed her about her cryptic note. Begging like a spoiled child, to know his Christmas presents ahead of time.

Today, he just watched her, whenever they had a breather. He watched her to see if she was still sore when she moved. He watched her to see if she looked well rested. He watched her to see if she looked like a giddy elf plotting his demise at 6 pm.

And on a very unprofessional level, he did admit to watching her once or twice because those pants were just about the best thing she could ever have put over her ass.

He knew better than to harass her about it. He trusted her. He'd find out the plans at 6. Whatever it was, aside from a full-body wax, it'd be better than sitting at home. Alone.

"I thought you weren't going to come," she said, stepping out of the shadows of the tall brick building and into his path on the sidewalk.

He hadn't seen her.

He'd wondered if she stood him up.

"Why ever would you think such a thing?" He said, grinning at her. She was casual, but looked extremely comfortable. Dark washed jeans, a lilac t-shirt covered with a denim jacket. And some damned-sexy boots that were completely inappropriate for chasing suspects.

"You didn't ask me a single question about this all day, Tony. It was very unlike you to be so relaxed about not being in control. I assumed you had other plans."

"No other plans, Ms. David," he said smoothly. "No need to be in control."

She snickered, arms still folded across her chest.

He frowned at her. "I trust you. Whatever you've planned will be fine."

"You trust me?"

He nodded. "Yes."

Her eyes went wide at the sudden shock of his words registering. "I am not sure I ever thought I would hear that, Tony."

"Well hopefully that will start the night off on the right foot," he said. He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels slightly. "So. Where to?"

She smiled and pulled a pair of tickets out of her back pocket. "Double feature at the Avalon tonight. Casablanca and The Maltese Falcon. I thought you might enjoy some classic Bogart, yes?"

Ziva didn't know that she had ever seen him grin like this before. "You're taking me to the movies?"

"Yes."

"To see classic movies?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Double feature of Bogart?"

She nodded, her face falling somewhat. The constant questions made her think he was disappointed in her choice. "You'd prefer to see something else?"

"Ziva, if I didn't spend last night patching you up, I'd be swinging you around in happiness at this very moment!" Before she knew what he was doing, he leaned in and placed a kiss to her lips out of pure happiness. "This is going to be fantastic!"

She blinked and her eyes were wide. _Tony just kissed me. _

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked, grinning like the Cheshire cat. He crooked his arm out to the side, offering it for her.

She shook her head with a smile and a chuckle, lacing her arm with his own and heading towards the small boutique cinema.

She refused to let him buy the popcorn and soda. The rather animated discussion at the snack counter had ended with her stepping on his foot. The boots he once found incredibly sexy were now on his list of potential weapons.

He found the most comfortable seats in the house: center balcony. Only a handful of people chose to climb the stairs in the older theater, instead of sitting in the more easily accessible. It was secluded.

They sat shoulder to shoulder through the films. She resisted the urge to rest her head on his shoulder. Instead, they shared a soda and a popcorn, their hands touching occasionally. Neither one found it odd to drink from the same straw after the other person. Neither one found it odd to be so comfortable.


	6. Chapter 6

"The **range, **Ziva, I tell you that man was a master," he said, his hands gesturing wildly as they strolled along the streets.

"So I take it the movie was a success?" she countered, smirking at his enthusiasm.

"That was the best movie-night I've had in -" he paused, racking his brain. "Well, ever."

"I'm sure you've had plenty of other nights out that topped this, Tony," she said, steering him towards a late-night deli. "I'm still hungry."

She ordered for them quickly and efficiently, not giving Tony time to hem and haw over his many options. She knew, given the chance, he'd stand there all night trying to decide between Roast Beef or a French Dip.

The older man behind the counter was polite and his eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled. He noted her Star of David necklace and attempted some Hebrew. Ziva replied, smiling and glancing occasionally at Tony.

If he didn't know better, Tony would have sworn he saw her blush ever so briefly under the older man's inquisitive gaze.

She was so quick in paying for their meal, he had no chance to even offer. She thrust a soda into his hand while she gathered a kosher hot dog and ice cream cone in hers before following him back out to the street and towards the metro station.

They enjoyed the slight breeze early-fall offered in DC. The sky was dark but the moon was full and the walk to the metro wasn't far.

They ate as they walked. She held the hotdog for him to take a bite as they walked. He held the soda for her. When the hot-dog was gone, they passed the icecream back and forth.

"What did he ask you back there?" he asked quietly.

"Who?"

"The guy at the deli."

She shook her head and dismissed his question with an eye roll.

"Come on," he whined.

She sighed, knowing he wouldn't let it drop. "He asked me how long we had been together."

He stopped walking, turning and giving her a look somewhere between incredulity and cockiness.

"Apparently only old-married couples can order for each other as efficiently as I do. And he was curious why I do not have a ring."

"Ohh," he crooned, chuckling. "Wait till I tell McGeek. By some ancient Jewish Deli Law, we're engaged because you bought me a hot dog."

She couldn't help but snicker. "By the law of Abraham and Hebrew National?"

He grinned and put his arm around her shoulder, resuming their walk.

Ziva slid her arm around his waist, hooking a thumb through a belt-loop.

"I would hope, Agent Dah-veed, that after working together for so long, you would know how to pick up a snack for me. How many cases have we been on where one of us goes on a food run?"

She grinned. "So by that logic, that means you're married to McGee as well."

"Oooh, no, Ziva. I'm nothing if not devoted and loyal. I'm a one-woman-man. I will not cheat on you with McGee. You can count on it."

They walked another block before he sighed and ran his along her arm briskly. "You know, Ziva," he started, his tone more reserved than she was used to hearing. She lifted her head from his shoulder and watched him as he spoke. "There are worse things I can think of."

"Worse than being married to McGee?" She frowned. "I don't know, Tony. I think he will make someone a great husband."

Tony smirked. "Worse than being married to you, Ziva. I can think of lots worse things than being married to you." He turned his head and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. "In fact... I have to say that if the last few nights are any indication, I can't think of a nicer way to spend the next fifty years of my life."

Her breath caught in her throat and she knew she looked like a deer in the headlights. She cleared her throat when her mind caught up with her. "Only fifty years, Tony?"

He shrugged. "I'm being realistic. Eighty Year old NCIS agents don't happen very often."

"You are the exception to many rules," she said playfully.

He nodded. "So what did you tell the man at the deli?"

She cleared her throat. "I told him that you are my best friend."

He tilted his head and nodded, acknowledging the validity of her simple statement.

She continued. "He said that's usually how it starts. As best friends."

**A/N: **Chapter 6 is the final installment of "Hold On." Many thanks to my beta- Jaimee - for her help on this story. I really enjoyed writing it and have had a wonderful time playing in the NCIS FF world. Thank you all for reading and many thanks to those who took the time to review. -Kerrison


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